


Necromancer's Delight

by Aizenat



Series: The Faust City Chronicles [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dystopia, F/F, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Intersex, Lesbians, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Past Rape/Non-con, Prostitution, Rape Recovery, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aizenat/pseuds/Aizenat
Summary: A collection of short stories that will serve as the "prologue" to my upcoming WIP sequel to Before The Fall. Each chapter will focus on different character at different times. Some old favorites, some new faces. It is not necessary to read Before the Fall to understand everything in this story. Those who have read it, of course, may enjoy some of these perspectives.
Series: The Faust City Chronicles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552870
Comments: 21
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I've been pretty inactive on this site as I dealt with life, but I wanted to get back to posting here. And so I figured I'd start with some one shots I wrote to help me with the sequel. I'll talk more about the sequel in the end notes, but I just wanted to say that I appreciate all the support I've gotten. I will be following up on comments this week, so anyone who hasn't heard a reply will be getting one soon! 
> 
> Also, I know I'm big on telling ya'll to mind the tags, but these stories won't depict any graphic stuff I have tagged. They will be mentioned though, so I just wanted it to be thorough in case even mentioning some stuff might be upsetting. And, as always, if I feel like a story requires it, I'll add trigger warnings at the beginning of the chapter. 
> 
> Updates will be sporadic, but I'll try to keep them consistent. If that makes sense. Thank you so much and I hope you all enjoy!

There wasn’t a particular point where the city began. Mateo had been walking for hours. His feet were swollen, his back screaming in pain, and the setting sun was the only relief he had at the moment. The last 24 hours had been hectic and chaotic. He knew running wouldn’t be easy. But he didn’t expect this.

He’d come in from the west. The group that had tried to smuggle him in—before the ambush miles outside the city—told him it would be best if he had someone with him. The west side of the city was the roughest: people would be quick to try to take advantage of a pregnant surrogate alone.

Still, he had no choice. After they’d been caught, a fight broke out. The rest had been a blur. Mateo remembered being grabbed and pulled every which way. He remembered one of the Nation’s soldiers trying to take him away. He remembered somehow getting his hands on a gun.

Mateo put a hand on his stomach, ignoring where his thoughts were trying to take him. He’d been prepared to have to dirty his hands in Faust City: he hadn’t prepared for what they’d get dirty with. He didn’t think he’d walk into the city with literal blood on his hands.

That was probably why no one stopped him. He passed a group of warehouses, empty aside from a few workers sitting around eating lunch and bullshitting. One saw him, met Mateo’s eye, and returned back to his buddy as if he’d just seen a stray cat. Mateo wasn’t sure if that was a mercy or what. He considered asking them for help but decided against it. He wasn’t going to fuck up now that he was in the city.

He walked more, pausing at times when his stomach started to cramp. He was only four months along, but his bump was noticeable on his slight frame. He took a few deep breaths before continuing. The city wasn’t too busy, which Mateo found odd. He heard nights were the best time to experience the magic of the city. He thought the twilight would be filled with hearty food smells and loud music as the parties began.

Maybe it was because he was on the west side of the city? Maybe the real magic was on the east side.

No one paid attention to him. He knew people saw him: shop owners and women scantily clad all eyed him. But that was it. No questions. No concern on whether he needed help. They just took him in and walked past, preparing for their nights without any care for him.

Mateo wasn’t sure why, but that hurt. He knew not to expect help in the city, but he found it a bit odd that he could walk around covered in sweat, dirt, and blood without anyone stopping to see what was happening. It was so odd.

Was the city really that ruthless?

“Hey! Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

Mateo felt someone grab his arm, and he flinched away. The person, thankfully, let go, backing away as Mateo turned to meet him. It was a young man not much older than he was. He had sable brown skin—probably mixed—and curly, dark hair cut in a short, tapered style that framed his face. He was taller than Mateo, with a slim yet athletic build that made Mateo wonder if he worked out or was just blessed with good genes. He was holding a tablet, and Mateo noticed that he had black and red symbols and lines tattooed all over his hands.

“I wasn’t sure you heard me,” the man said, smiling at Mateo so sincerely that Mateo’s heart skipped. “Do you speak English? My Spanish isn’t that good, but I know someone who’s fluent.”

“I don’t speak Spanish,” Mateo said rather lamely. It wasn’t a rude assumption to make: he _was_ Mexican. Or, at least, his parents were. “I only speak English.”

The man paused, glancing up and down at Mateo before smiling at him again.

“Same. But we’re not really encouraged to speak anything else in the Nation, are we?”

Mateo hesitated before shaking his head. Was this guy from the Nation? Was he a snatcher? He didn’t look it. Despite his build, there was something about him that seemed slighter than most guys his age.

“You look really tired,” the guy said, stepping a bit closer. “Are you on your way home?”

Mateo shook his head again. He felt stupid telling the truth: he should be smarter than this. But he hadn’t slept in three days, and he _was_ exhausted.

“I don’t have a home,” he said, looking around. No one was stopping to look at them. “Not anymore. I ran from my home.”

“When did you run?”

Mateo hesitated again, before sighing. “I think about a week ago? We got ambushed earlier today. When we got close.”

The man nodded. He looked down at his tablet as he took out a stylus, using it to write on the tablet.

“There are snatchers close by the border. It’s not unheard of. But you made it. You’re in Faust City.”

Mateo nodded. He figured. But there was something nice about hearing it confirmed. He let out a small chuckle, blinking away tears.

“Do you have family here? Friends? I’d be happy to help you find them.”

Mateo felt like he shouldn’t trust that, but he couldn’t force himself to be more diligent.

“No,” he admitted. “I’m all alone.”

The man smiled gently at Mateo. “Not entirely, right?”

It took Mateo to realize that the man was talking about his baby. His unborn child.

“Unless you don’t plan on keeping it.”

Mateo blinked. “Is that even an option?”

The man nodded. “Very. No one here will force you to have a child you don’t want.”

“I’m too far along for that.”

“You could abort a fetus up until your due date here,” the man said with a sympathetic shrug. “Few people make it that long without wanting the baby, but it’s always an option.”

Mateo shook his head. That felt wrong. But he didn’t want this baby. Not really. He hadn’t wanted anything that happened to him. He remembered when Nation soldiers kicked in his door and shot his parents when he was a child. He remembered being taken to the Nation when they realized what he was. He was forced to learn English—forced to forget his own language and culture and customs. He became a Christian. And he was raised to prepare to be raped. Only they didn’t call it that.

Mateo had no intention of fighting. He’d been afraid that doing so would lead to the same fate as his parents. Still, when someone asked him what he would do if he had the choice, he’d been honest. A tall man working at the Reprogramming Center that Mateo had been sent to. He’d been working there undercover, it turned out. He’s the one who helped Mateo escape.

Mateo found out he was pregnant at that Center. They’d spent so much time trying to get him to connect to it. Mateo didn’t want to connect to it. He didn’t want to be pregnant. He didn’t want a baby. He wanted it gone the moment he learned it was in him. He still wanted it gone.

But if he had the choice, he didn’t want to make that one.

“I don’t want that,” he said aloud, shaking his head.

“You want to keep it?” the man asked. Gently. He was so gentle with Mateo. Could he really be a bad guy?

“I—” Mateo wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to get rid of it, but how was he supposed to keep it? “I don’t know how to raise a baby.”

“It’s not easy,” the man said, his eyes looking off a bit to the side. “I gave birth to my baby here too. He’ll be turning six soon.”

A surrogate then. Just like him! Mateo smiled.

“He’s not really a baby then.”

“He’ll always be a baby to me.”

“You raised him alone?”

The man shrugged. “Yes and no. Technically yes, but I had help. I made a lot of good friends who helped me along the way.”

Mateo looked around at all the people walking by and hanging out at the stores around them. All the people ignoring them.

“People helped you here?” he asked.

The man laughed, following Mateo’s gaze. “This area of town isn’t a good place to seek help. At least not outside the IRRC. I work there, by the way.”

“IRRC?”

“Immigrant and Refugee Rescue Center. It’s designed to help people like us—those of us who escaped the Nation—adjust to our new lives. There are a lot of programs that help with housing and education and job-hunting. I was able to become a nurse thanks to them.”

Mateo just blinked at him. “Didn’t you say you’re a surrogate too?”

“Yup.”

“And you’re a nurse?”

The man smiled rather proudly and nodded. “Yup.”

Mateo hadn’t given much thought to what he wanted to do, but he was suddenly inspired by this stranger. A nurse. Someone who helped people. He’d gone from being an uneducated broodmare to someone who could save lives.

Mateo looked down at the blood on his hands. Could saving lives help him atone for the life he took hours earlier? Would God forgive him? Would God understand that Mateo had been scared? Just wanted his freedom? If God freed the Hebrews from Egypt, would he punish Mateo for trying to be free himself? Would God be more likely to forgive him if he dedicated the rest of his life to helping others?

“I want to do that,” Mateo said, making up his mind. Whether God would forgive him or not, that didn’t matter. Mateo was free: his life was in his hands now. Not God’s. “I want to help other people.”

The man smiled, messing with his tablet for a second before putting the stylus away and opening up an arm towards Mateo.

“The first step to helping others is learning how to help yourself,” he said, wrapping an arm around Mateo’s shoulder and leading him down the street in the opposite direction Mateo had been heading originally. “So let’s get you cleaned up and fed. And maybe some sleep would do you some good. And you’ll need to let me look you over. Especially since you’re pregnant: I specialize in female and surrogate health.”

Mateo nodded, letting the man lead him. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Of course. You’re welcome, uh, wow, all this talking and I haven’t asked for your name.”

“Mateo,” Mateo said easily. “Mateo Castillo.”

“Nice to meet you, Mateo,” the man said, smiling down at him. “My name is Lucca Leroux. Welcome to Faust City.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A different perspective...

“You don’t have to stay with her.”

Sofia sighed as she slipped into her dress. She was so tired of having this argument. If she didn’t love Camilla so much, she would just stop seeing her entirely. But Sofia was selfish. And she did love Camilla. So once she was dressed, she turned around to Camilla and smiled at her.

“Should I reserve you for tonight as well? I could take you out on the town.”

“Stop paying for my nights with that bitch’s money,” Camilla snapped, turning in bed so that her back was to Sofia.

Sofia frowned, walking over and hopping on the bed. “Camilla, please. You know I love you.”

“Do you love _her_?”

Sofia smiled. Love had nothing to do with it. Not really.

“She’s not that bad.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“I do love her.”

“As much as you love me?”

Sofia turned, her feet on the floor as she rolled her eyes. Both of them made this so difficult. She tried so hard to be what they both wanted. But neither of them made it easy. Sofia felt her chest go cold, a chilly panic going through her. Would they ever be happy? If one of them could be, then this would all be worth it. But if none of them were, then what was the point? What was she doing? Why was she even ali—

“Sofia,” Camilla said, her voice gentle. “I’m sorry. It’s just, I mean, it shouldn’t be like this.”

“She needs me, Camilla,” Sofia whispered. Because she wasn’t sure how true that was.

“ _I_ need you. Sofia, I’m making enough money that I can support us both.”

“I don’t like you doing this.”

“And I don’t like you selling yourself to that fucking cunt, and yet here we are.”

“It’s not the same thing, Camilla,” Sofia said, standing. Where was her purse?

“How is it not the same thing?”

“Because I’m not selling myself for money.”

“You’re selling yourself for me. Because she threatened me.”

“She didn’t threaten you.”

“Then what did she threaten? What the fuck would make you choose her over me?”

Sofia turned to Camilla, meeting her eyes. So strong-willed. So self-righteous. So determined that she was right. In so many ways, _they_ were both alike. And in so many ways, they loved Sofia the exact same. Passionately. Loudly. Possessively.

Sofia was going to crack under the pressure they kept her in. She needed a fucking break.

“I chose her because she’s not a whore,” Sofia said, rather unkindly. It wasn’t the full truth, but it wasn’t a lie, either. “Because I can have her in my bed at night without paying an arm and a leg for it. She needs me just as much as you do, but she doesn’t pretend otherwise. She’s honest. _You_ want to keep running.”

“I—”

“You’re better than this, Camilla,” Sofia continued, pretending Camilla hadn’t spoken. She found her purse on a chair and picked it up. “Not just the work, but better than giving up on yourself. Even when you were in danger of losing me, you didn’t do anything. She moved mountains for me. I love you, but you’re just not willing to fight for me to the way she is.”

“I love you a million times more than she ever will.”

“That may be so. But why didn’t you fight for me?”

“I did fight. I—”

“You took on more work.”

“So I could make enough to support you!”

“I don’t need to be supported, you fucking idiot,” Sofia snapped. She was tired of this. Of everyone treating her like some kept pet whose only purpose was to look pretty and spread her legs when told. “It’s never been about the money. It’s never been about any of that. I wanted to struggle _with you_ more than I wanted to be her pampered pillow princess. You’re so jealous of her that you don’t even see what all you have over her. You were always better than her, Camilla, except in one way. She gives me her time willingly. I have to buy yours.”

“Sof—”

“I’ll see you next week,” Sofia said, walking to the door. “Unless your rates go up.”

“Sofia!”

Sofia slammed the door behind her, taking a few deep breaths. She hated this. Hated being in the middle. Hated that she even had to choose. But what she hated more was how Camilla spent their time together bitching instead of proving to Sofia that she made the wrong choice. She hated that Camilla gave up on herself. On them.

Sofia blinked tears away. She didn’t want to do any of this shit anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I feel like absolute SHIT for posting last month and then just disappearing! So I decided to upload and come through with an update! Yay?
> 
> I might have mentioned that I was moving into a new place in my last chapter update. So that was stressful as FUCK. I'm hoping to be able to move again in a year or so, but we'll see. I'm so tired of moving, but it's also nice being in a new place. Change of environment. And I got a new, bigger adult bed out of it! Haha. Yay! 
> 
> I'm excited for the new year; I have a lot of plans to really start making some moves. The good news is you all will benefit from it. Those announcements will come later. 
> 
> In the meantime, I have some bad news. I know I said in my last update that it was looking like I'll be able to start updating the sequel to Before the Fall early 2020. I'm going to have to regretfully push that back. I'm hoping to be able to start posting by spring 2020, but there are a LOT of factors depending on how the next couple of months go that will determine that. So while that is my goal, it might get pushed back to summer. I don't intend to hold off longer than August, but the sequel will be delayed some time. 
> 
> The reason being I decided to scrap what I was doing. I may or may not have mentioned that I've REALLY been struggling with the sequel. I'm not sure if it's because I keep trying to plan it, and Before the Fall was more free-form with vague plot points to hit and me just going with the flow on how we got there; or if it's because of the point of view. This update with Sofia and Camilla is actually the blame for this. Again, I can't remember if I said this in my last update, but writing this actually made me want to write this perspective. THIS was actually a minor point/backstory within the original sequel. But when I wrote THIS, I was really compelled to write something more focused on it. 
> 
> So what I think I mean is that the sequel I was planning got scrapped for something different. I have no idea what the plot/major conflict is going to be yet, so I need to do some planning. I might start writing and then plan as I go. I'm not sure. As you all know, I like to have a few chapters written before I start posting. If I start writing before I plan and it works, I'll be able to upload more quickly. If I find I need to plan out the story first, then it will delay the upload a bit. 
> 
> The original sequel is still going to happen, I think, but I just need to get THIS story out first. I did mention that I was hoping to make this a trilogy. If so, that means the story that this prologue inspired will be the actual sequel while the one I was planning will be the third instillation. 
> 
> With that being said, I also had a bit of a side story with some new characters that I was also thinking of writing as a way to work through any writing blocks. It would be very similar to Before the Fall in that it's a lot of gratuitous suffering with little actual plot. It would be something I would write and upload with no set schedule; since it's a writing practice for me, I would make no commitment to it. I'm still going back and forth since I have a BUNCH of writing projects I want to tackle this year. I think I'm biting off more than I can chew, but I like doing that so whatever! Lol. 
> 
> I have one more "prologue" that I think will round all these out. I had another short story written, but I felt like it was pretty badly written and corny? Idk if you'd like that. So I have one more featuring Lucca. I think I'll hold off on posting that until I'm closer to uploading the sequel/when I at least have a more solid update on the sequel's publication date. So this will be my last upload of the year. Wow. Amazing!
> 
> I just didn't want to leave you guys hanging. I'm sorry that I'm so wishy washy; I'm trying to work through that now so that it doesn't get in my way once I start doing this for a living, you know? (wishful thinking) I like being consistent here. But I promise updates will come soon. Sorry for the delays; I'll work harder! I promise! 
> 
> See you all next year. Hope 2020 is a great year for you all!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tale of the people left behind...

He had been unrecognizable. They wouldn’t move his remains to Pennsylvania until after he was identified. They had to pull dental records of everyone who’d been at the army base that night. Some of the men had lived, though they’d spend the rest of their days as eunuchs.

Chelsea didn’t care about them. She’d barely cared about Monty. Hearing that he was dead hadn’t felt real. Not when she’d been shown a livestream of his charred body. Not when Monty’s father decided to have Monty’s remains burned further instead of buried at their family plot. Not even when the urn arrived a week later, days before the wake.

“Lulu.”

Chelsea turned to her door, surprised to see Gabby standing there. She’d put Gabby down for a nap not even ten minutes ago after having to deal with more funeral planning with Monty’s mother. Her own parents were flying in two days from now, the night before the service. Chelsea wasn’t looking forward to having to host so many people. Especially not on her own. As much as she despised Monty at times, he made playing housewife easier when she had him to bounce off of.

But for now, she was alone in the house. She’d sent the cooks and maids home, tired of seeing them whisper and look at her with sympathy. And Gabby had been behaving like a brat without Monty around to reel her in. Chelsea knew that was mean to say, but it was the truth. It was why Gabby had crawled out of her bed and walked into her room instead of going to sleep like she should have.

Chelsea sighed, standing up and walking to her. Gabby watched her, her eyes big and looking so much like Lucca’s. Gabby was hers; there was no one to lay claim to her or try to take her away. No one would dare try. But Gabby looked nothing like her. Even her curls looked different than Chelsea’s own waves. And though Gabby was light, it was obvious that she was mixed with something. Chelsea thought Monty would dilute that more; yet another thing she’d gotten wrong.

“What are you doing up, baby?” Chelsea asked, kneeling in front of Gabby. She’d read that it was important to get down on a toddler’s level when talking to them. “You’re supposed to be napping.”

“No,” Gabby said, her voice tired. “Lulu.”

Lucca. She always wanted him. Even after Monty separated them, she always wanted him. She would quiet down instantly whenever he held her. She’d eat when he fed her. She’d take her naps when Lucca put her down. Chelsea wanted to feel resentment, but all she felt was stupid. And if she did resent anyone, it was herself. She was an idiot for thinking this would work out. She’s just as responsible for everything that happened to Lucca and Monty.

Even if Gabby couldn’t be around Lucca a lot, she still saw him. In passing or at meals. She barely registered Monty’s absence, but she’d cried for Lucca every night after a few days passed and he didn’t come home.

“Lucca had to go away,” Chelsea told her for the fiftieth time. She knew Gabby didn’t understand, but she couldn’t think of anything to tell her. It was easier with Monty: Daddy had to go to heaven. Gabby seemed to understand that. But Lucca wasn’t dead. “He wasn’t feeling well, so he went somewhere where he could get better.”

Sure. Let’s go with that.

“Lulu” Gabby said, pointing behind Chelsea.

Chelsea turned, looking at her desk. The police had all but ransacked Lucca’s room after he ran, looking for any sign to point to how he escaped and who helped him. All the surrogates on the block were brought into questioning. They all played dumb beautifully; Chelsea knew that at least one of them had to have known something.

One of the newer boys—Milos; Chelsea always thought his name sounded too harsh for such a sensitive boy—made an attempt on his own life after all the questioning. He was recovering in a Reprogramming Center, expected to get a lobotomy in a couple of months. That had triggered a nervous breakdown in the Kyles’ surrogate. That one had surprised Chelsea: he was one of the older ones and seemed very well adjusted. He’d also been sent away, though the Kyles had left with him, to spend the last few months of the year somewhere warm and calming.

And that drama happened all around the media circus currently surrounding the neighborhood. A surrogate has never escaped the country before. Or so the media was spinning it that way. The authorities had told Monty’s father some interesting facts about a couple of Lucca’s old schoolmates. His roommate had disappeared before getting on a plane to Mexico. The fact that they couldn’t find him made them believe he’d gone to Faust City. At least two more boys who would have left around the time he did had killed either a child or the man who had won their bid. One boy, whom Mr. Grayson said was in Lucca’s peer group, had ran away from his family in Spain. He was found in Sweden, where surrogacy was illegal, and extractions deemed unlawful.

The truth was there were a lot of unhappy surrogates in the Nation. They tried to pretend that wasn’t the case, but they made a mistake with Lucca: the Nation had reported him missing. It didn’t take long for Monty to piece the puzzle together. Chelsea still remembered him ranting to her on the phone before he got on a jet to fly to the army base in Louisiana. Devon. His wife had gone missing, and he was thought to have something to do with it. He played stupid, but used his wife’s connections to smuggle Lucca out. Devon had gone missing under the guise of giving Lucca a C-section. Devon was sneaking people out.

The local authorities got the military involved quickly. They immediately pulled the media in, running the story of a crazed man with his harlot wife working to kidnap women and surrogates and children out of the country for nefarious reasons. Lucca’s picture was everywhere, and the media had a field day in those few hours urging people to come forward if they saw anything suspicious. Within an hour of Lucca’s disappearance, the entire country was on high alert.

They thought they’d stop him. But something had happened at that base—something no one could make sense of—and Lucca was gone. And the fact that he ran was obvious then. There was no way to spin it any other way. How he’d managed to take down, and castrate, a literal army of men with guns was beyond anyone’s understanding. A female combatant was also taken into custody with him, but they hadn’t identified her to know her role. There was too much up in the air.

Chelsea had been alone when she heard of Monty’s death. She hung up with the reporting officer and laughed. Not because of some stupid idea that she was free. But because she knew that if Monty was dead, it was because Lucca had killed him. And that was hilarious to her. Monty always thought his love for Lucca would be felt. He thought Lucca would love him back.

But Chelsea knew that to be an illusion. Lucca had no love for Monty. She always thought their relationship would end in disaster. She assumed it would be Lucca getting a lobotomy. But this was better. Funny. Because she knew Monty would have never seen it coming. If anything, Monty probably assumed he’d kill Lucca long before Lucca would even consider killing him. And yet Monty was the dead bitch. It was poetic. _Right_. Chelsea couldn’t help but be happy for Lucca.

Chelsea stood up, walking over to her desk, where there was a yellow blanket. Lucca had crocheted it forever ago, and Gabby had loved the color. So Lucca gave it to her, and she carried it everywhere with her for a full month. When the authorities went through Lucca’s stuff, they took it as evidence. But a week later, it was determined inconsequential. And so it was shipped back to Chelsea with a few of his other stuff. Most of it was clothes that Chelsea knew Lucca didn’t care about. But the blanket had stuck out to her. It was the only one of his blankets that they returned.

“Lulu,” Gabby said, following Chelsea to her desk. She lifted her hands.

Chelsea sighed, picking Gabby up and putting her on her hip. She grabbed the blanket, handing it to Gabby. Gabby immediately clutched it close to her chest, burrowing her face in it. Content, she rested her head on Chelsea’s shoulder, hugging the blanket close.

Chelsea wasn’t sure what was going to happen now. Her parents wanted her to move back home, but Chelsea wasn’t going to let that happen. Monty was a doll, leaving behind a lot of money in their savings, and in his insurance policy once Chelsea could claim it. And when Gabby was old enough for finishing school, Chelsea could return to work. Even if she didn’t, there was plenty for her to live comfortably off of. And as an infertile widow, she wouldn’t be forced to marry again.

Monty really did her a favor by dying.

Chelsea smiled to herself, swaying back and forth, feeling Gabby’s breath get deeper as she finally drifted to sleep. It was just her and Gabby now. With nothing but the financial security, familial support, and national sympathy to keep them afloat.

They were going to be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I went back and forth between whether I wanted to post this. But I figured I would just for fun. I have another prologue story I need to edit a bit that will be going up later this week. And then that will be the end of these. So sad. 
> 
> I mentioned this in the first chapter of my current WIP (I'll touch on that in a second), but in case people aren't reading that but are checking here, I wanted to let you all know what's been going on. The day after my last update (of this "story"), my grandfather passed away. It's something that has been a long time coming, but it really sort of threw me off, and I'm still struggling with getting back on track with my writing goals. He's the first close death I've ever had to deal with (I know, I'm lucky in that regard), so it was a bit of a lot. 
> 
> But I did post A sequel. So you can go on my page to see that. 
> 
> I say "A" because it's not the sequel I intended. If you've read the first chapter of that, I know I said I was ditching this story after it; or rather, leaving this world. However, I'm an indecisive asshole who can't make up her mind. Meaning I lied. 
> 
> No, not lied. At the time, I was ready to move on, but writing my current WIP really made me want to continue with the stories. I'm still not sure how I want to go about it, because if I do it right, I'm going to end up writing two more stories. And I'm not sure how I feel about that. But I also really WANT to write them? So, we'll see lol. Ideally, I want to finish my current WIP before June, and then pick up the next sequel by August. And then, since I'll likely take a break from this world for NaNoWriMo, start posting again in November. 
> 
> We'll see, though. 
> 
> Either way, the sequel is out. I'm warning y'all know that it's new characters, BUT you will be seeing some old ones. So don't despair. I think you guys will like my current WIP, though. Check it out. I called it The Devils Wear White because I'm so creative lol. 
> 
> That WIP will also be updated today. 
> 
> Please leave comments y'all!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return of our hero...

“This is a waste of time,” Lucca muttered, his heel tapping on the floor. He could be home right now, cuddling his baby and finishing his assigned reading.

Anya gave Lucca a sympathetic smile. “It’s a necessary evil,” she reminded him. “Shouldn’t be too long.”

“Yes, this is all just a formality,” Soren said from Lucca’s other side as she messed with her smartwatch. Her Louisiana accent was endearing, making her seem sweeter than she already looked. “I am sure this whole mess won’t require an actual hearing.”

“A hearing just to determine if we’ll have a hearing,” Al said, rummaging through her desk drawers. “Gotta love bureaucracy.”

“You say that,” Soren said, tilting her head at Al, “as though you do any of it.”

Al found what she was looking for—a small remote—and looked at Soren as she straightened up.

“You’re right. That’s what I pay you for.”

Lucca rolled his eyes at them, not amused. Apparently, his escape made international news. Even before Lucca made it out of the city, his face was all over the media when the story was that he’d been kidnapped.

That narrative changed, however, when Lucca registered as a refugee: the Nation now knew he was alive and well. And they knew he _wanted_ to be out of the Nation. The story now changed to one of a psychotic surrogate who went so far as to somehow kill and castrate an entire army base filled with soldiers, as well as burn Monty alive, in order to escape for his own selfish reasons.

Lucca preferred that story, and not just because it was closer to the truth.

Still, the situation meant that in the few months he’d been in the city, he had to waste many hours getting dressed up in his nicest slacks and button up shirts in order to appear at various offices and city buildings for meetings like this. Most of which didn’t even need him when all was said and done. He’d wait in lobbies or outside office doors only to be told that all went well without needing to hear from him, and that they’d be in touch.

Lucca was sick of it. He wanted this whole ordeal over with. And though he never voiced it, a huge reason was because he was tired of not knowing what was going to happen. In a worst-case scenario, Lucca would be extradited back to the Nation in order to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Or, at least, that’s the story they’d tell. Might even make a public show of a trial. But Lucca knew the end result would be him lobotomized and then inseminated until he couldn’t physically have children anymore.

The same fate as his mother.

“I make sure we don’t go to war,” Soren was saying, pulling Lucca from his thoughts. “We have treaties we have to honor, lest we forget.”

“I don’t get a chance to forget thanks to you,” Al said, fiddling with the remote. “Is there a rule you don’t know?”

“If there was, then I wouldn’t be good at my job.”

Lucca side eyed Soren. It was hard to get a read on her. She was petite all around, with pale white skin that seemed odd from a southerner. Her blonde hair was cut in a short pixie cut, her green eyes big and bright and full of energy. Similar to Al, she wore a suit, though hers was a bright blue and cut to flatter her feminine shape. Her tablet was glued to her hip, and she’d taken out a pair of reading glasses for the meeting.

Lucca’s first impression was that she was uptight. She’d been at Al’s office before anyone else—even Al—talking briskly over the phone. She introduced herself quickly and curtly to Lucca as the director of something-or-another. She then herded them into Al’s office, commenting on Anya’s hair and encouraging her to put it up for the meeting. She’d even told Lucca to button up his shirt completely in a sweet yet commanding tone that reminded Lucca of the Centers in the Nation.

And anyone who wasn’t afraid to chastise Al Faust wasn’t someone to take lightly.

“Lenny says he’s going to be calling in now,” Soren announced as she looked at her phone.

“Finally,” Al muttered, turning to the bookcase behind her and hitting a button on the remote. “Fucker loves making us wait.”

As if out of a movie, the shelves in the center clicked open and moved to the side to reveal a flat screen tv. Lucca let out a heavy breath. This was it. Either he was about to begin the next biggest battle of his life, or he would truly gain his freedom.

The screen lit up to a dark gray before a man’s face appeared. He was easily middle aged, his hair liberally peppered with gray and lines under his eyes. He had a gruff scowl on his face, and big ears that were almost comical. His dark eyes danced on camera as he took them all on.

“Evening ladies,” he said, seeing to speak mostly to Al and Soren. He glanced at Lucca before giving a curt, “Gentleman.”

“Good evening, Richard,” Soren answered, hitting something on her smartwatch. “Date March 24th, 4:45pm. Let the record state that the meeting on Case 286LL29 has commenced. Richard Henry is in attendance. Say ‘aye’ Richard.”

“Aye,” the man said after a brief pause.

“Thank you, Richard. I, Soren Allister represent the Department of Foreign Relations and will determine whether there is enough evidence to call a hearing on the Nation’s extradition request against Lucca Leroux. All parties are aware that this conversation is being recorded, which will be confirmed with their affirmations. I, Soren Allister, say aye to recognizing and approving this recording to be recorded. Al Faust, please confirm.”

“Aye,” Al said.

“Anya Faust, advocate for the defendant, please confirm.”

“Aye,” Anya said, rolling her eyes.

“Richard Henry of the Nation’s Faust-Nation Affairs, please confirm.”

“Aye,” Richard said again, shifting in his seat.

“Lucca Leroux, defendant listed in case 286LL29, please confirm.”

“Aye,” Lucca said, following suit.

“Excellent. I call this meeting to order. Mr. Henry, you have the floor.”

Al turned to look at them, mouthed “bureaucracy” and turned back to the tv before Richard spoke.

“Thank you, Ms. Allister,” Richard said, looking a little annoyed by the whole thing. “After hearing your advice from our last meeting, my superiors are still insisting to the extraction.”

“Lucca registered as a refugee,” Anya jumped in immediately, reaching into her briefcase for her own tablet. “Meaning—”

“Meaning the extradition cannot be formally requested until the hearing on whether refugee status is granted,” Richard said, lag be damned. “I know your little laws, Miss Faust. Exceptions can be made, however, in criminal cases.”

Lucca felt his heart pound. Soren had warned him that speaking out of turn would likely hurt him more than help him. He was supposed to let Anya advocate for him, and simply answer any questions if asked. That was it. But Lucca didn’t like this: he was just sitting here doing nothing. Letting everyone talk about him while he said nothing in his defense.

“Have formal charges been filed?” Soren asked, not showing any reaction to the back and forth.

“Yes, as of this morning.” Richard moved to reach for something off screen. “My assistant is sending you a copy of the warrant now.”

As if on cue, Soren’s tablet and Al’s computer dinged in tandem. They both checked their respective emails, looking over whatever the man—Richard—had sent. Soren’s eyes sped through her screen until she nodded seconds later. She raised her watch to her mouth.

“Let the record show that signed warrants from Judge Alexander Washington has been submitted, and will be attached to the case file. Warrant acknowledged.” Soren paused, passing her tablet to Anya. Anya took it and looked at it while Soren looked up to address Richard. “Since a warrant has been filed, you will have to convince me that there is enough evidence to justify an extradition.”

“And there is not,” Anya snapped before Richard could speak. She handed the tablet to Lucca who glanced at it. He understood the words separately, but couldn’t make heads or tails over what half of it meant. “The evidence provided is purely circumstantial. There is enough to justify a warrant and questioning, but nothing to convict off of.”

“The section in the treaty regarding extraditions does not state that the evidence has to be beyond reasonable doubt,” Richard snapped back at her. Something told Lucca that Richard didn’t like women talking back to him. “There is more than enough to justify sending him back.”

“Section 8 of that article states that while the evidence does not have to ensure a conviction, it has to be enough for conviction to be ‘likely.’ You have no evidence to accuse Lucca of anything.”

“There are over three dozen dead men that beg to differ. One of whom was the very man Lucca was lending his services.”

Lucca went cold. What an odd way to refer to his rapist. He heard Anya respond, but everything went quiet and still for a moment. Shit. He hated this. It started recently when, at Anya’s insistence, Lucca started seeing a therapist. Given his history with counselors, Lucca had been beyond reluctant. Anya, however, claimed they were better than the ones in the Nation; that they actually helped.

And while Gloria—his current therapist—did help Lucca a lot with addressing his recent anxieties and adjustments, the work she wanted to do with addressing his past forced Lucca to face emotions he’d spent a long time suppressing. It meant he started thinking of Monty as his rapist. And it meant that Lucca had to deal with the fact that he’d been systemically raped for years. It was weird: Monty was a lot of things to Lucca, but rapist hadn’t really been one of them until now.

Lucca wasn’t yet at the point where he could think of Monty without freezing.

“Lucca?”

Lucca jumped, looking up to see Soren looking at him, her hand resting gently on his knee. Anya and Al were also watching him; Richard too. Lucca wasn’t sure how much he missed, but someone must have asked him something.

“Lucca, love,” Soren said, grabbing Lucca’s attention. “Do you remember anything from the night you were taken?”

Lucca remembered everything. He remembered the helicopter, and then the jet. He remembered Devon getting shot, and the smell of blood and gunpowder in the air. He remembered getting captured, and hearing Antoinette being assaulted. He remembered Monty in that small cell, beating him. He remembered Angel’s magic, powerful even in the womb, and using that magic to stop Monty. He remembered Monty holding a gun on the roof, shooting Anya. He remembered starting a fire. He remembered Monty burning.

“No,” Lucca said, continuing the lie he and Anya practiced over and over.

“How convenient,” Richard said, unkindly.

“I remember being taken to a lot of places,” Lucca said, not meaning to talk but not being able to stop himself. “I remember I was in labor, and I remember Monty was there, and then I was here. That’s all.”

“Obviously the entire experience was traumatic,” Anya said to Soren. “The labor itself and the chaos of everything happening means he can’t discern what truly happened. Lucca is the only witness they have, and his memories are far from credible.”

“Then how do we attest to all the men who were castrated and killed? A woman was taken in with Lucca to Fort Polk. She obviously helped him!”

“You never identified, nor interviewed her before your base was attacked,” Anya said, easily. “She might have been a trafficker that ran off when Lucca was rescued at the border. But without even a description of her, we can’t track her down to get her side of things. That was a lack of foresight on your military, Mr. Henry.”

“Then how do you explain Montgomery Grayson being burned to death?”

“How do _you_ explain that, Richard?” Al asked then, speaking up for the first time since given her “aye” earlier. “Lucca was literally in labor at the time. How do you think he single-handedly took down almost forty military-trained men?”

“He obviously had help!”

“From who?” Anya pressed. “You have zero witnesses to corroborate that. And even less to prove that Lucca conspired with these perpetrators to commit murder. It’s likely that these were traffickers who took out whoever was in their way in order to escape to the city. Lucca was lucky our border patrol units scared the traffickers off so he could get the help he needed.”

“Then why did he register as a refugee?” Richard demanded, his neck red. “If he wasn’t conspiring, why not just register as a regular immigrant?”

“I didn’t know Monty was dead until these hearings started,” Lucca answered. Lucca saw Anya give him a warning glance, but he ignored her. “I thought he’d come after me.”

“Why stay?” Richard said, his eyes on Lucca now—or, rather, Lucca assumed they were on him. “If you were taken against your will, why stay in that city? Why not come back to the Nation where you belong?”

Lucca let out a shaky breath, fiddling with his hands. He wished he had Angel in his arms right now. Angel was getting big and loved being held. If Lucca was holding him, he’d feel stronger right now.

“I didn’t ask to be here, but if I’m here, then I want to stay here.” He looked up at the screen, looking Richard’s scowling face head on as he said his next words. “Especially if Monty’s not around to take me back.”

Richard scoff, obviously catching his meaning. Not that he could prove Lucca was saying he was happy Monty was dead. Lucca knew on the recording on Soren’s watch, he sounded nervous and scared. And Lucca was. But despite what Monty believed, Lucca wasn’t an idiot. And he could see Richard realizing that.

Richard nodded, his eyes narrowing. “The Nation will have Lucca face justice for his crimes against his family, his nature, and his country by any means.”

“That sounds like a threat,” Al said, sitting up straighter. She smiled, all teeth. “You know how I feel about threats, Richard.”

“If I may interject,” Soren said, cutting Richard off right before he started speaking. “Richard, please be mindful of the fact that our treaty states clearly that Faust City has the right to reject any extradition requests we find to be egregious. We understand how sensitive this case is given the media circus going on in your country right now. And you know how much I hate playing into that. And, unlike Ms. Faust here, I don’t mind giving up unsavory characters when you all ask for ‘em. Was I not on your side with the Allen-Lily case?”

Richard didn’t respond; his silence spoke for itself.

“Exactly,” Soren continued, taking her tablet back from Lucca’s lap. “Now, based on the warrant and the points both you and Miss Faust made today, I’ll be honest; I think it’s quite silly to pretend Lucca was some hapless victim who was spirited away twice against his will. You could have gotten away with that, Miss Faust, dear, if the initial escape plan didn’t fall through. But it’s obvious Mr. Leroux here wanted to get out. And it’s obvious he had help.”

Richard nodded seriously, looking too proud of himself. Lucca, however, felt everything slow down. So this was it. Soren was going to rule against him. Lucca wondered if he could do this again. A whole hearing on whether his refugee status would be approved. Being extradited. Then a trial in the Nation. A lobotomy. More pregnancies. What would happen to Angel through all that?

“That being said,” Soren said, not finished, “I must say Richard that the role Lucca played in all of this is what is up in the air. You’re trying to argue he had a hand in killing and castrating men who were much bigger and stronger than him, _while_ he was in labor. Now that just sounds like something out of a movie, don’t it? I don’t believe that. Lucca may have asked for help to escape—I believe that—but I don’t think he planned or executed the murders of your soldiers.

“Meaning the most you have to convict him on is conspiracy to unlawfully leave the Nation. Which, first of all, is not what the warrant is for. And, two, is not a crime we extradite for. Hell, we extradite everyone who came into our city unlawfully and we’d have maybe ten immigrants a year. And that, by the way, would undermine our status as a sanctuary state. So no, Richard, we cannot make an exception in this case.”

“Come off it, Soren!” Richard roared, shocking Lucca enough to jump. “It’s obvious he killed Montgomery at least!”

“How do you know that?” Soren challenged. “Do you know how he did it?”

“He fucking burned him to death with that devil magic you lot use!”

Soren raised her eyebrow at that. “Oh? I know you’re no stranger to magic, but I know for a fact most people in your country know nothing of it. Are you willing to bring magic to the attention of the Nation en masse for this case?”

Richard sputtered, his face and ears going red to match his neck. It was quite entertaining. Soren waited about half a minute before speaking again.

“No? Then I cannot justify sending him back if you won’t be bringing up that possibility. I have to side with Anya on this: your evidence is purely circumstantial. You have no witnesses, other than the defendant himself. And his memory is extremely hazy given the circumstances. Was there anything else not in the warrant paperwork that you wanted to present?”

“My superiors are not going to be happy to hear that,” Richard threatened again. “They will see this action as a declaration of war.”

Soren nodded, lifting her wrist to her mouth. “Let the record show that Richard Henry is attempting to strongarm us into siding with the Nation in this case with threat of war. This is a breech of the Fau—”

“It’s not a damn threat!” Richard said, shaking his head. He looked defeated. “No one is threating you. I’m just pointing out how my superiors will take it.”

“There’s no reason for them to take it that way,” Soren said, frowning. “I have no personal relationship with the defendant. I have no dog in this fight. I am as impartial as anyone could be in this situation. Nothing you said has convinced me that an actual crime worthy of extradition occurred.”

Richard was silent, not answering. His eyes moved across the screen, looking at them all before he sighed. He nodded, saying nothing more. Lucca’s heart was racing. Did this mean…

Soren lifted her watch one more time. “I, Soren Allister, in the case of 286LL29, rule in favor of the defendant regarding the stay of execution. Witnesses are Al Faust and Anya Faust. Please confirm witnessing.”

“Aye,” Al said, rolling her eyes again.

“Aye,” Anya followed.

“Richard Henry, representing the Nation, accepts this ruling. Richard, please confirm.”

Richard heaved a long sigh before answering. “Aye.”

“Perfect. Does the defendant accept the ruling? Lucca Leroux, please confirm.”

Lucca glanced at Anya. She nodded, so Lucca followed suit. “Yes,” he said. “I mean, aye.”

“Good. The stay of execution regarding the refugee status signed into action January 2 is now null and void. The original ruling still stands. As of today, Lucca Leroux is a recognized refugee taking sanctuary in Faust City. Case 286LL29 is closed in favor of the defendant. Recording ceased.”

Soren hit a button before turning to Richard. “Thank you for your time, Richard,” she said. “Always a pleasure.”

“Sure,” Richard said before disconnecting the call.

There was a moment of silence as Al hit a button on her remote to turn the tv off and make the bookshelf move into place. Lucca wasn’t sure what to make of what happened. Did that mean he won?

“He is so exhausting,” Al said, shaking her head. “Always fighting a losing battle.”

“I honestly expected that to go the other way,” Soren said with a laugh. She gave Lucca an apologetic glance. “No offense.”

“What does this mean?” Lucca asked. “You said the ruling was for the stay of execution.”

“Ah, yes. The stay was, essentially, an injunction against the ruling earlier this year to grant your refugee status. I ruled that the stay wasn’t justified, meaning your refugee status is in full effect.”

“So I won?”

“Yes, Lucca. You won.”

Lucca let out a long breath he didn’t know he was holding. Anya smiled, her leg shaking in her chair.

“Told you it would all work out,” she said. “I’m good at arguing my point.”

“Yes, about that,” Soren said to her, shaking her head. “Just a word of advice; most people are going to put things together. You can create doubt without being, well, silly about it.”

“I wasn’t wrong.”

“Yes, but only an idiot wouldn’t fill in the blanks. You gotta play a bit smarter. The only thing that saved you was you pointing out the lack of witnesses, and Lucca’s hazy memory.”

“You can’t rule again on this, can you?” Lucca asked her. “Like, take it back?”

Soren looked at him, shaking her head. “No, sir. My assistant has that recording and is typing out my ruling now. Since this was just on the stay, everything else is in effect. Why?”

Lucca swallowed. “Because I remember everything about that night I ran.”

Soren stared at Lucca, blinking without any reaction. Lucca wondered if he just screwed himself admitting that. But right when the panic started to creep in, Soren’s face broke in a smile and she started cracking up. Lucca relaxed.

“My, my, my,” Soren said between chuckles. “You are quite the actor then, huh? Did you really kill forty men on your own?”

“No,” Anya answered. “That part was me.”

Soren shook her head again, standing. “Wow, Ms. Al. You sure got a handful with these two. Send ‘em my way to work if you can afford to lose ‘em. I need better actors. Tell me, Mr. Leroux, now that you’re a free man, what will you do now?”

Lucca thought of everything he’d been through the last few months. There was only one thing he wanted to do more than anything else. He looked up at Soren.

“I’m going to go home and cuddle with my baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to put up. 
> 
> When I first wrote this, I hated it and thought it was too corny and stupid. I initially was going to make this the first chapter of this weird mini-series, but my thoughts that it was gratuitous crap made me decide not to. Ahh. Oh well. Here it is finally. 
> 
> With that said, the sequel to Before the Fall is out in case anyone is keeping track. I'm thinking of doing a companion series of one-shots just for fun. I have all these stories in my head. Kinda want to get them out. 
> 
> Idk, I'm rambling. Bullshit is happening in my life right now and my mind is all over the place. I apologize if I feel too distant right now. I'm just really going through a rough time. Haha. (It's not funny why am I laughing?) 
> 
> Anyway, hope you all enjoyed. Please leave comments; it'd brighten up my day and week and month and life right now.

**Author's Note:**

> Mateo is one of my favorite boy names ever. I didn't really intend for Mateo to have such a violent introduction. I adore him, though I don't think we'll get to see too much of him in the sequel. He's a cutie. He reminds me of Lucca in many ways, though Lucca is some years older and wiser by this point. 
> 
> That said, Lucca! I knew that if I posted the first chapter I intended, y'all would kill me if I didn't show Lucca. But I sort of had this vision of how Mateo and Lucca met, and I thought this would be nice. We will see more of Lucca in the sequel, so don't worry. I also have another prologue short story that will be focusing on Lucca. 
> 
> Speaking of my sequel, I finally started it. I was having a LOT of issues just getting started. Since this story is going to be more structured, I was concerned it would be boring. I'm following an outline and I don't want to get too boggled with "hit this point, then this, then this." I'm not 100% sold on it yet, but it's written and the story can begin in earnest. The more I write, the more excited I get to write more. 
> 
> At this point, I would LOVE to start uploading the sequel in January, but we'll see. I finally got about 5 chapters out, as you guys know I like to be some chapters ahead so that way if I go through a rut or block, you guys still get uploads. BUT I'm moving in like a couple of weeks (same complex, just a bigger spot, ugh), so I know I'm going to be distracted with that. On top of that, we're officially in the Christmas season! So I know I'm going to be hyper focused on that. Especially with the move, I'd like to be 10 or so chapters along before I try uploading. That will give me enough padding to feel comfortable with. If I can get there by New Years, then I'll start posting on January 1st. If not, then we'll have to wait. 
> 
> I'll also use this story to keep you guys updated on the sequel and when to expect it. It's def coming soon. I'm excited!


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